Magnum Opus
by bonafake
Summary: IN PROGRESS: Hermione, Draco, Harry and Theo become friends under odd circumstances, forming a dueling club. Their club attracts some attention from the Dark Lord himself, and he offers them the chance of a lifetime: join him on his quest for world domination. Of course, they agree. What else could they do? HG/TN. Revisions beginning 10/29/16. Ch. 1-1 posted 1/7/17.


**Magnum Opus**

 _By: BonaFake_

###

 **Author's Note** : _Here we are for the second time! For those of you rejoining me, thank you for sticking with this story and for your wonderful reviews! To those of you new to Magnum Opus: this is a revamp/redux of a story I began about a year ago. The original had impossibly slow pacing, poor characterization, and shoddy writing. Hopefully, this new version is significantly improved._

 _Changes from the original: 1) Magnum Opus is being written as we go, so updates will likely be released at a much slower pace. Remember how they used to come out weekly, on Fridays at six o'clock? Not so much anymore. 2) The story is being narrated in the third-person, present tense. I find that this is easier to write fic in._

 _Alright, I think that's it! Thank you for reading, reviewing, and giving this story a shot!_

###

Theo wonders, sometimes, what pushes her to him.

It might be the explosive fighting—enemies really do fight _so_ much better than friends do—or it might be because of her, her anger, her _fear_ —the kind of fear he can practically _smell_ coming off of her whenever she see him—but Theo prefers to think that it's because of _them_.

After all, that's why _he's_ pushed to her.

Hermione is standing against the wall, looking fear-drunk and _angry_ —fired up about _something_ that he'll probably never truly understand. But, _fuck_ , he wants to. "Granger. Hermione. Are you—are you okay?"

"No," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "But you don't care, really."

He wants to scream.

He wants to _hit_ something.

And that—it's fucking _terrifying_ —the fact that he wants to hurt _her_ , the one person he thought he could trust himself around—to _care_ for, to care _about_.

"I—true. Yeah. I hate you," he says, leaping into his lie, because he's good at that.

"I hate you," says Hermione. "Of course."

She's breathing a little harder than usual. Maybe it's because of her lies, and maybe it's because of _him_ —even though he _refuses_ to think of that—and he knows that she doesn't mean it, not really. Hermione says a lot of things that she doesn't really believe. Theo knows because she told him.

"If you hate me so much, curse me."

And she does—and it's a _revelation_.

Maybe that's just her.

He can still remember the scent of her hair—a bright, nearly _painful_ cinnamon—when they'd dueled for the first time—in Snape's class, after he'd paired them together. She'd looked down at the floor, at her shoes, terrified and almost _ashamed_ , and he'd said _,_ "Do your best," and it had been a ceasefire—no, a _turning point_ —for him, for _them_. That first time—it was stuck in his brain, and he didn't expect to ever forget about it. Theo didn't _want_ to.

 _Meet me in the Room of Requirement. I want to duel some more_ , he'd written, and it had been _important_.

That year, most of their communication was through notes—notes, scattered through books Theo had known only Hermione would read, notes, stuck in between library shelves, notes, scribbled at the bottom of potions recipes. Theo had kept every single one of them—even after Slughorn had asked where some of his recipes had gone. He didn't care. Hermione had made him reckless.

Theo barely notices when she wins their duel—with a sharp, fast cut to the inside of his arm—and he looks at her curiously when it happens. "Oh," he says, a bit stunned.

"Thanks, Nott," Hermione says, and she leaves the room, and he sits down, and wants to cry, not because of the cut, but because he's not sure he can handle being around her without—without _anything_.

Nothing but dueling. Nothing but this, and _this_.

He's almost certain his father wants him to go to a Death Eater's meeting tomorrow.

###

Theo sees Hermione the next day, too.

She walks past him, ignoring him completely.

He pretends that it doesn't hurt—or at least, that it hurts less than the stinging cut on the inside of his arm, and leaves a note for her in the Ancient Runes book that he knows she was reading. _Can't come today. Tomorrow?_

Hermione doesn't _say_ anything, but later, Theo finds a note scribbled on the second page of his Potions notebook. _Tomorrow._

###

"Where were you last night?" she asks him, right as he says, "How have you been?"

"You first," she says, eyes burning. It's not— _anger_ , not quite—but he can feel the heat from the embers, and it's _painful_.

He nods; he was expecting something like this to come up eventually, and tugs at his sleeve. "Revel. Death Eater," says Theo, showing her his mark and expecting Hermione to pull back in revulsion. Because that's what it is: repulsive.

"I thought so," Hermione says, and her voice is—it's _different_.

"Guess you weren't called the brightest witch of our age for nothing, then," he says, mirthless and exhausted. When is she going to leave?

It's not that he wants her to leave. It's that he _expects_ it.

"Theo," says Hermione, and her voice catches. "I won't let you be alone."

"Do you miss them?" he says, voice tart. He doesn't _mean_ to be cruel to her—Theo just wants her to see the overbearing _truth_ of the situation—that he's a Death Eater, and they are not going to be okay.

"Who?"

"Your parents," Theo says, and reminds himself of _why_. It's just like ripping off a bandaid—quick and painful. He wants it over with—wants her to stop _caring_ , wants her to stop being so fucking _good_.

"Yes. But—"

"It was not for the best, and you know it."

"It _was_. And stop changing the fucking subject, Nott—you can't shove me away that easily."

He stops. Turns towards her. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I—I am."

And she holds his gaze—brown eyes locked in with blue—until he breaks it. "Answer my question now."

"Okay," Hermione says. "I'm doing fine. And I have an idea."

Her eyes are brighter whenever she's talking to him, he notices. "What is it?"

"We should form a dueling club."

Theo blinks; this was _not_ what he was expecting. "I—oh. Why? How—can we trust other people? With this?"

He means _with them_ , but isn't quite brave enough to say it.

"I—yeah, I think so. Who do you want? Keep it small."

"Draco. And—Lovegood. You?"

"Neville. Harry. No one else for now, alright?" Hermione says, eyes cautious. "We have to—stay safe. Protect this sort of thing."

He thinks he understands what she's saying—she wants to protect _them_.

"I'll tell my two choices, you tell yours," she says, sitting across from him. Hermione is—she's not _delicate_ —but after going to the Death Eater's meetings, after seeing every single one of the worst kinds of atrocities, she—she looks a little bit _softer_ , almost. Theo thinks he might love it.

"Okay," Theo says. "Yeah, okay."

He gets up after her, and leaves with his heart while he still can.

###

Theo—he's a watcher. Observant. He sees things that no one else looks for, that no one else _wants_ to see. Some people call it smart. He thinks it's just a survival tactic—a way of making sure nothing slips past him. It helps him stay in control—and maybe it's just a misguided coping mechanism, or maybe it's _actually_ helpful. He doesn't know.

All this means is that he can _see_ Goyle approach him and give him a _look_ —the kind of look he's seen his father give other people, the kind of look that can cut and smart and _burn_. "Nott," says Goyle, and Theo—he tries, so, so very hard not to be scared, but it's so, so very hard to be brave.

"Goyle," he says, because—he's _not_ brave, no matter how often he lies to himself. He's not _Hermione_ , for Merlin's sake.

"Where are you going every night, huh?"

"What—what does that have to do with you? Nothing, right?"

"Actually, yeah, it _does_ have something to do with me—you're skiving off and making the rest of us look bad."

"So?" Theo says, and he might be imagining it, but his voice gets a little bigger with every second that Goyle looks confused.

Then he laughs, and Theo shrinks another few inches. "So you'd best explain it to me, right?"

Theo cringes.

"Goyle," says a voice from the corridor.

He lets out a breath of relief, then doesn't. It's Draco Malfoy. Of course, it's him.

"Nott," he says. "Come with me."

Theo frowns and feels the slick sense of dread building in his stomach. They walk into the dorm together and everyone else leaves—probably because they know better than to mess with Malfoy when he's like _this_ —agitated, _whatever_. Draco stands against his emerald green four poster bed and stares at Theo. His grey eyes have bruise-like shadows underneath them, and for a second Theo is concerned that he's not sleeping enough. Then he shrugs it off, because it's not smart for him to care—not when it's likely that they'll all die before the year ends. "Do you have a secret?" Draco asks.

"I—yeah. It's—I wanted to talk with you about that, actually."

Draco raises an eyebrow, managing to look scornful and concerned all in one expression. "Got a secret girlfriend, Nott?"

"No," he says. "But—I _am_ going somewhere every night. Granger and duel in the Room of Requirement, when we can. It's not—well, I mean, I guess it is," Theo stutters, not sure what he's saying.

Now Draco looks as though he's disgusted _and_ scornful and concerned. "Granger? Really? Why duel the filthy mu—"

"Don't fucking use that word, Malfoy," Theo insists.

"Why duel _Granger_ , Nott? I mean, she might be bright—"

"—the brightest—"

"—and decent enough at flinging hexes, but—"

"—more than _decent_ , actually—"

"—she's still a self-righteous Gryffindor who can't keep her mouth shut or her head down."

"She's a good fighter," Theo says, feeling more self-conscious at Draco's every single blink.

"Why are you telling me? I—why, I could go and rat you out to the Carrows right now!"

"You won't," he replies, feeling everything settle back into place—Draco doesn't understand that threats don't hurt him anymore—not when he'd already been pushed through the worst parts of life. "Because—because I have an offer for you. For the best duelers."

Draco raises an eyebrow and says, "What is it? Join your little group of duelers?"

"Actually, yes," says Theo, not quite as cowed anymore. "Duel with us."

"Oh, I'll do it, I suppose."

"Don't make this sound like some favor you're doing for me," Theo snaps. "Just—just come to the Room of Requirement tomorrow night."

"Done," replies Draco. "See you then, I guess."

###

He wakes up early that Sunday.

It's a normal occurrence. Even when he can sleep in, Theo usually doesn't. The rest of the Slytherin dorm is silent; they're all accustomed to lazy weekend mornings filled with tea and house elves. Theo is accustomed to escaping Nott Manor as early as possible and hiding on the grounds so his father didn't find him.

The library should be empty this early in the morning.

###

Perhaps it's strange, but Theo _likes_ being alone. He likes having a cup of tea early in the morning by himself; he likes being able to read a book in silence. Maybe it's a side-effect of a childhood spent without any siblings or very many friends. Maybe it's because of the poor example made by Goyle and Crabbe—Draco's lackeys, tied to him so tightly they were barely able to think for themselves.

Either way, it worked out. He wasn't attached to anyone and the others left him alone.

Besides, of course, the obvious exception.

He finds himself watching Hermione from his library table in the back. She's alight when she studies on early mornings, diligent and deliberate with every book she picks up. It takes him a second after Luna taps him on the shoulder to notice that she's there.

"Oh," is what Theo says when he _does_ notice. "Hello."

"The weather is nice," she muses, not even looking at him. Her eyes have drifted somewhere he can't follow.

"It's all cloudy and grey, though," notes Theo. "Not—it's not exactly _nice_."

"A storm to some people is a way out of the doldrums for others," says Luna. "Perhaps you'll see the weather differently at the end of the day."

"The weather itself might be different at the end of the day," he says. "You can't compare those two, can you?"

"You might think not," Luna replies, and frowns. "I think the weather will change for us soon."

"The—the weather? Or do you mean things for us?"

Her head cocks to the side, and her eyes focus on his face with a startling speed. " _My_ weather will be changing soon."

Theo doesn't know what she's talking about. He decides to cut to the chase. "Will you duel with us?"

She smiles at him, a curious cat, waiting for the mouse to leave its hole. "Like friends or enemies?"

"Maybe—maybe both," he says, considering. "Yeah, both."

"No one's ever asked me to be a friend _and_ an enemy!" Luna says, delighted.

"That's a yes?"

Luna nods. Theo lets out a sigh of relief. "Your paramour is coming. I'll leave you."

"She's not—"

"Isn't she?"

He sits back down, because—well, he doesn't really have an _answer_ for that.

###

Hermione leaves a note on his table as she's walking past with a large pile of Arithmancy books in her arms. _How are you? Did you get them?_

Quickly, he scribbles his response and walks over to the stacks.

"Hi," he says, gritting his teeth to stop from saying any more and passing her the note.

"Hi," she says, and looks down. "And I don't hate you."

Theo looks down so his eyes don't betray how much this means to him. "I don't hate you either."

"Good," she says, looking up from the note, brown eyes meeting blue. He swears he can feel his heart pause, skip a beat, maybe, in his chest. "So we'll meet tonight in the Room?"

"Yeah," says Theo. "I—see you then."

"Bye," Hermione says quietly.

He leaves, and he can feel his heart in his chest again. It's uncomfortable, to say the least.

###

Theo knows he doesn't deserve Hermione.

That doesn't stop him from wanting.

###

Theo shows up first and waits in the Room for everyone else to get there. Hermione is first. She sits next to him, and smells like cinnamon, and smiles. It's too much. "Hermione," he says, then licks his lips, and stops. Then he starts again. "This is going to be good. So—so thank you for doing this with me."

"I know," she says. "Thank you, too."

It's enough, for now.

Draco and Harry filter in next and sit across from each other. They might be glaring. Internally, Theo sighs. He knows, of course, that year old animosities don't go away within seconds of having mutual friends or being in the same room as each other. He just wishes they would. For a second, there's silence. Hermione kicks at Harry's leg. Theo feels the urge to do the exact same thing to Draco. Extend an olive branch, he begs internally.

They both do, at the same time. "Hi," says Harry.

"Potter," says Draco.

Theo lets out a breath. Hermione looks at him and squeezes at his hand. Breathing is hard with her skin touching his.

Neville and Luna are the next—and last—to arrive. Neville takes one look at Draco and Harry, narrows his eyes, and sits down next to Draco. Luna nods diplomatically and sits across from him.

"Alright," says Hermione. Is her voice shaking? He can't tell. Probably it is, because this is fucking nerve wracking and neither of them know what they're doing. It reminds him of the second time they'd dueled—the first time outside of class, with no teachers to stop them from really damaging each other. Theo had walked out of the Room that night with a tight, queasy feeling in his stomach. It had only eased after Hermione had passed him a note. _We need rules_. Theo had agreed.

"You all know that Theo and I duel pretty regularly. Should we get started?"


End file.
